


It Started with a Voice

by A_Writing_Pen



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Writing_Pen/pseuds/A_Writing_Pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Modern AU. Hawke has grown tired of his daily life as an audiobook voice actor that is until he hears a new voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took much longer than it should have, but I finally finished my Fenhawke audiobook AU based off of dyr0z ‘s post.

“Her long red hair flowed past her shoulders, delicate like silk. It held a softness he never would have thought possible. In armor, she was all hard edges, tempered by steel and duty straight from the forge. To think that this hidden soften lay underneath, waiting to be revealed made his mind reel. “I love you” she said unhinging the last thread of sanity left in him.-”

Hawke read to the end of the passage, the latest edition of Swords and Shields, in the small space of the recording studio. There was only him, the book he narrated from, and the microphone only inches from his face, in a space barely big enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. From the other side of the glass where the recording director sat, he must have looked comical, a large man squeezed into a tight box like a bear stuffed into a cat carrier, but Hawke had stopped caring about that years ago.

“That’s enough for today, you did great.” said a voice over the intercom.

From the other side of the glass, the recording director gave a thumbs up. Hawke slipped off his headphones and finally, after several hours of reading for an audiobook, he could finally just stop talking. He wasted no time walking out of the tiny booth into the larger recording studio.

“We should have the book wrapped up by the end of the week. A shame Swords and Shields isn’t a high seller, you do good work with it.” The director says as Hawke gathered his things, a pair of car keys, a reusable water bottle, and a light jacket he slung over his shoulder.

The readers can’t be blamed for having good taste, Hawke thinks. He loves Varric to pieces, but romance is not his forte, not like his crime novels. Varric may be a romantic by nature, but it was hidden underneath layers of sarcasm, quick wit, and borderline cynicism; all of which worked well in a hardboiled crime drama, but did little for the love life of his Guard Captain protagonist. But Hawke’s job was to read and not to trip over lines that would make his mother blush, but bore Isabella, or anybody who had a higher threshold than say The Notebook.

He nodded his head, not wanting to use his voice. The director was a plucky new-hire with only a few years of experience under his belt. Keran was his name, Hawke remembered, thinking it over for a moment. A good enough kid, hoping to make enough to support himself and his sister with a rising career. Like so many others, this job was just a stepping stone to something better, and Hawke hopes Keran will make it, but his own experience tells him otherwise. After all, Hawke fell into voice work thinking it would only be a year or two until he moved on to something else. That was ten years ago. Keran was saying something about next week’s schedule, but Hawke had already left the room before he could finish.

He didn’t hate his job, but doing the same thing day in and out became routine, and routine was boring. On a Friday night like this, the brisk walk down the hallway to the exterior door always gave way to the same thoughts. The walk took thirty seconds, and Hawke had trained himself to give those thoughts no more time than that. Hawke hardly went to any auditions anymore. A part of him knew that he would find himself in trouble one day if he didn’t go after work more aggressively; freelance never guaranteed security even though he was lucky enough to have constant work over the last several years through the contacts he made. The other part thought maybe it would be better if he never got another voice acting assignment again, then he would be forced to start something different, start over again like when he was 18 and had no plans, money, or prospects, but a vague sense that he would be alright. He didn’t know what he wanted, he just knew that now he woke up every day knowing what his day would be like and feeling dread over the banality of it. The brass door handle was cold on Hawke’s hand; his thirty seconds were up. As soon as the door opens, Hawke sees Varric waiting for him, waving over to him.

“And there’s the golden voice that brings my beautiful words to life.” Varric says.

Hawke crosses the distance between them, it was not hard, and Varric parked his car right in front of the building in a spot he knows is reserved for his brother Bartrand, owner of the recording studio. That only added to the wide grin Varric wore.

“Sadly, not even my voice can pull together that thing. I can’t tell if I’m reading a trashy paperback romance or softcore smut from the 1930s.”

“Smut is too cutthroat.” Varric shrugs his shoulders, “Personally I would drop the series and get back to Hard in Hightown, but Cassandra would probably Misery me if I did.”

“I can’t tell if she’s your agent, your biggest fan, or your worst enemy.”

“Sometimes it’s a bit of both,” Varric says, “I just try not to make her angry.”

“I have never seen you not maker her angry.”

Varric laughs knowing it is true. The two of them must live off antagonizing the other, Cassandra for keeping Varric as a client after so many years, no matter how popular his books are, and Varric for intentionally pushing her buttons by teasing her and never following through on his deadlines. Teasing aside, it is difficult not to be charmed by Varric, Hawke knows since they have had a professional and platonic relationship for years starting from the beginning of their own careers.

Varric always asks for Hawke to voice his stories, in part to make sure that Hawke always has a reliable source of work and because of a joking superstition that Hawke’s voice always added a little something extra to stories, and a bit more to sales. Hawke narrated Varric’s first Hard in Hightown novel. Even though the book had done well when it was first published, it was his first book to have a narrator and stay on the bestseller’s list. That coincidence was enough for Varric to track down Hawke’s home address, wake him up early on a Sunday morning, and offer to take him to a rundown tavern when it was far too soon to start drinking. The only thing stranger was that Hawke agreed. They had been friends ever since.

Hawke’s throat still felt a bit sore, but the two chattered for a bit; Bartrand was an ass, Varric’s thoughts on his next project, Aveline cut her hair short, to everyone’s surprise. Then Varric reached for something inside his car and handed it to Hawke, an audiobook of a fantasy short story collection.

“This is out already?” Hawke says.

He looks over the audiobook collection in his hands. Tales of Champions reads the title, “a collection of short stories by today’s most talented and popular authors.” Varric’s name is one of the first, and in a larger font than the others. Hawke’s name is also listed also, but among the names of narrators. He read Varric’s story of course and a few others. Among the name of narrators he recognizes some of his closest friends, Duncan, Isabella and even Sebastian, still a bit inexperienced, but he managed to get into the collection. Hawke doesn’t recognize all the names, the collection is a mix of veterans and new voices. He looks at the gift too long, furrowing his brows as if he can’t decide what to feel about it. Varric studies Hawke’s face.

“Some new blood in that collection that you might want to pay attention to.” Varric said, thinking that’s enough to get the point across.

“Are you saying that I’m getting old, Varric?”

Varric feigned a look of aghast horror.

“Me? Never. Just wanted you to know who to look out for in case you meet them for an audition.”

“So I need to watch my back then?” His voice was light and teasing.

“Only if you actually show up this time.” Varric strains the last few words. Varric always watches out for his friends. Maybe imagining the darker side of human nature in his crime novels grants him insight into how terrible the world can be, and inclines him to shield those he cares about from the very things he imagines. In truth, this small man is a mother hen, but that doesn’t stop his prodding from being downright annoying. Especially today when nothing is particularly special.

“Just listen to it.” Varric said, feeling the annoyance radiating off Hawke, thick beard exaggerating the hard edges of his growing scowl.

“I’m surprised anyone buys a hard copy of these. I thought everyone just used apps.”

“I’m old fashion, plus I like actually handing you something. Hanged Man tonight?”

Hawke shrugs, feeling tired and shakes his head. Varric already knew he would turn him down before he asked.

“Not tonight, I’m feeling a bit tired.” He said.

“Your loss.” Third week in a row that Hawke skipped out on their group’s weekly game of Wicked Grace. The betting pool for Hawke’s eventual appearance just got bigger.

Once Varric leaves, Hawke walks over to his own car. He tosses the audiobook into the passenger’s seat and gets into the driver’s seat before starting his car. Evening traffic means his commute home will be at least 30 minutes. The radio springs to life, a three car accident doubles his commute to an hour or more. His mood sours. The audiobook Varric gave him is the last thing he wants to listen to, but nothing on the radio grabs his attention and he has been doomed to sit in his car longer than he wants. Pulling out of the parking lot, Hawke removes the first audiobook disc from the box and puts it into his CD player.

As he enters the main road, Hawke only half pays attention to the opening credits and introduction read by the editor of the short story collection. He only catches the last name of the editor, Mahariel. The next voice he hears is strangely enough his own. He skips the story immediately; he never listens to his own work, the experience always feels strange like a doctor operating on himself or a taxidermist examining their work on a family pet. The next story catches his attention in just a few words.

He doesn’t recognize the voice, and Hawke has been in this industry for years. The voice is deep and accented, words smoothly rolling out in a rhythm he could lose himself to, making the story take on a new life just in the sound. If he wasn’t driving he would give in to the temptation to just close his eyes and purely listen.

The story is about an escaped slave who rebuilds his life as a free man, then after years tries to reconnect with the remainder of his lost family, a single sister, only to be betrayed by her to their old master. The story is much darker than Hawke usually likes and stories about families hit closest to home for Hawke, but he keeps listening.

“-and in that moment he recognized her, the weighty sadness in her eyes changes to horror as her former brother advances towards her covered in their old Master’s blood. She pleads for her life, pleads to an old bond long since severed.

“I would have given you the world” he says in a biting anger that had consumed so much of his life, now about to take the last link of his former self, and what remained in the ashes could be sorted through later. His decision is made before the knife sinks into her flesh and his sister falls dead to the ground. Slave no more, but he is uncertain if what remains is any better-“

A tragic story, Hawke thinks, the kind that hangs deep in the fog of the waking world long after the story ends. This was not what he was looking for when all he wanted was to crawl into bed and watch some mind-numbing reality show, but he can’t make himself regret hearing it. The next story begins, Isabella’s familiar cooing begins from what most likely will be a pseudo-erotic adventure, but his mind is still on the last voice. “I would have given you the world” the way it was said, in anger, but with a heartbreaking sadness underneath stuck with him. The voice itself didn’t hurt either.

Gridlocked. Hawke’s car hasn’t moved in the last five minutes. He has already skipped through the rest of the CD to see if he could hear the voice again on another track. Fumbling for the box, Hawke checks the back cover to find the name of the voice.

“Fenris?” He read to himself, caught by the strangeness of it. Maybe the accent was the narrator’s natural way of speaking. In the index, the name appears twice more, two short stories back to back on the next disk. Pressing the eject button, the CD drive spits out the disk and as he inserts the next one the car in front moves a few inches, a sign of good fortune. He is already skipping to Fenris’s track when he starts driving again.

The accent is part of his natural voice, but it fades without a trace whenever Fenris voices a character. He has a deep voice, so it is harder for him to raise it to a natural sounding pitch when he plays a child or a woman, but it’s not the worst Hawke has heard. Changing his own voice had been one of the hardest things for Hawke to learn, and he did not have as prominent of an accent. By the time he pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex, Hawke wonders how old Fenris is and what a voice like that looks like.

Originally Hawke had planned to make himself dinner, return his sister’s phone call from earlier in the day, and watch TV. Instead, the first thing he did after walking through the door was start his computer and look up any other works by Fenris. He never called Bethany that night and fell asleep only to feel only more exhausted the next morning but excited for a reason he could not name.

 

The following Friday, Hawke sits in the waiting room for his audition. The room was small and familiar, he had sat in it so many times before. What he did not expect was to find the man he spent the past weekend internet stalking. They sat only three seats away from each other, giving Hawke the opportunity to examine Fenris’s profile. Dark skinned with black hair, looking so much like his professional photos Hawke thought a trick was being played on him. The only reason Fenris hadn’t caught Hawke gawking was because, of all things, he was reading quietly to himself. The book was not part of the audition. The audition was for the narrator in a novel trilogy where characters would be voiced by different actors. Fenris was reading a history book, the latest by scholar Ferdinand Genitivi, a counter to what they were reading today. The text must have been engrossing because Fenris never looked up from the book since Hawke first entered the room. If Fenris had looked up at him, Hawke had no idea of what to say.

The studio director stepped out into the waiting room and called Fenris. Closing his book, Fenris stoically walked through the door without a word or a glance to Hawke. It wasn’t until after the door shut, sealing both Fenris and the director away, that Hawke realized he had just missed his opportunity to strike up a conversation. Of course, when he needed to his voice failed him, he inwardly chastised himself. Talking was his living and the one time he needed to do so unscripted, he missed it. His next thought made the situation worse. If he did see Fenris again, how was he ever going to get over the fact that he had just spent the last ten minutes staring at the man? Not starring but leering. Fenris was using the book as shield, to use any excuse to ignore the creep boring holes into his skin with his eyes. Hawke threw his head back against the wall.

“Damn.” He said.

He suddenly didn’t care so much about the audition now, he would probably fail it at this rate. Damn Varric’s meddling, he was better off skipping again. A knock on the wall pulled Hawke from his morose thoughts.

“A-are you r-ready?” Anso stuttered.

After all these years Hawke had known the man, Anso never got over his constant nervousness. How could a man work as an agent when he was so scared of the outdoors? At first Hawke thought Anso had social anxiety, every time he spoke to him he could hardly speak since he stuttered so much and dreaded going anywhere in a public space, then one day Anso admitted he had no fear of people but a great fear of wide open spaced. The opposite of claustrophobia, the only place Anso seemed comfortable was when he was in the sound booth, the smallest space aside from the actual recording booth. Something about the confined space with no windows seemed to calm him. Hawke rose and prepared to face the inevitable.

Hawke went through the same motions he had so many times before; he adjusted the book he was to read from to a comfortable height, slipped the headphones over his ears, and tested the microphone with a few warm-up vocal exercises. He signaled to Anso, who was on the other side of the glass separating the recording booth and the sound mixing booth, he was ready to start.

“We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly." She cooed, her lips curling in a sneer making the witch all the more frightening than her aging features lead one to believe.” Hawke read, his voice rising in pitch, but gaining a sinister edge as he read for the Flemeth, then returning to his own deep baritone.

Once he lost himself in the reading, he forgot about the incident in the hall. There was nothing but the words and the story. When he voiced a character, his demeanor changed as he emoted along with the words. His stance shifted, the expression on his face exaggerated those of his words, and when the witch turned herself into a dragon he stood taller, and waved his arms as he roared into the microphone. Hawke went on for some time before Anso tapped on the glass, and saw Anso, the sound director, and Fenris in the booth watching him.

“That was good, Hawke.” Anso said, his voice steady over the intercom. “Do you mind stepping in here for a second? Hawke?”

Hawke was staring again, slack-jawed and dumbfounded. Clumsily, he nearly dropped the headphones as he removed them from his head. Catching his headphones was enough to spark him back to life and return his voice to him.

“I’ll be right there.” Hawke said, full of fluster that was unlike him.

In a moment, he was standing with the other two men, crowding the room. Anso introduced them, Hawke already knew who Fenris was, but he didn’t say so. The waiting room came back to mind and dread overtook him.

Fenris nodded his head at Hawke.

“Good to meet you.” Fenris said.

“A pleasure.”

Anso cleared his throat before speaking. Was Hawke still staring?

“I brought Fenris here to watch how some of the others work.” Anso said, “He doesn’t have much training and he only got started in the past few years, but he’s starting to get recognized.”

“Oh.” Hawke said, realizing that Fenris had been watching him for far longer than he realized. It had been a long time since Hawke had felt self-conscious about his acting, years truly, but he felt it strongly now. A grown man flapping his arm like a 10-year-old playing make-believe.

“I have trouble letting myself get into character. Anso thought watching someone else would help.” Fenris said.

Hawke scratched the back of his neck. Maybe his display wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought. Maybe he could make up some bullshit about method acting. His eyes are greener than I thought was all that came to mind instead of a plausible lie.

“I’m glad I could help then. If you don’t mind me asking, what made you get into audiobooks?”

“I like reading.” Fenris said, providing nothing more.

“That kind of comes with the territory,” Hawke said, “though most people would just skip the tapes.”

Fenris shifted his weight before speaking again. From the way he carries himself and how brief his answers are, Hawke can tell this is a man who prefers sparseness, longevity belongs in the world of books and text, Fenris can convey them but they are separate from how he carries himself.

“A friend suggested it. I was looking for work and she always said I had a good voice. She actually set me up with my first audition.” Fenris said.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Hawke, we can take a 10-minute break before we start again.” Anso said, then excused himself from the room to talk with the sound director, most likely about Hawke’s performance. Now it was just the two of them in the room, and suddenly Hawke was missing the presence of the other men. A moment passed in silence, then another.

“I started in a similar way too. Sort of fell into it because a friend told me about an audition when I was looking for work anywhere. That feels like ages ago.” Fenris nods but adds nothing.

“What did you do before?” Hawke said.

“Odd jobs, here and there.”

“Ahh.”

Another pause.

“Who exactly was the friend who got you your audition?”

“I don’t think you would know her. Isabela-”

Hawke’s face lit up, the recognition so clear on his face that Fenris stopped.

“Wild hair. Scant clothes. Likes to call herself “Raider Queen,” innuendo completely implied.”

“The very one.”

The conversation took off. Everyone who knows Isabella has a story, usually about a raunchy night of debauchery one regretted in the morning. That was how they started talking, without cold awkward pauses in a cramped room. Isabella had somehow roped Fenris into an audition after a night of hard drinking. Isabella had set up Fenris with a recording session which he then had to attend with a pounding hangover and somehow managed to walk out with not only a job, but praise for getting “that perfect grouchy sound” for the bitter old man character he read for. Hawke recounted how when he had first started out, he made the mistake of taking Isabella’s wager in a game of Wicked Grace and made it home with the clothes on his back, but not his shoes, money, or even the deck he played with. When he got to his apartment after Varric dropped him off, he realized she had also won his keys, and he had to crash with Varric for the night. The next day after he got a spare key, he walked in to find Isabella siting on his couch, eating his food and already drinking again.

They lost track of time and kept talking until Anso came back into the room, noticeably shaking, holding a food container. Anso was already feeling the strain from a simple lunch run outside. Hawke didn’t know how he managed to come and go from work every day.

“Listen, some friends and I get together at the Hanged Man. I can introduce you to some people if you come with us.” Hawke said.

“I would like that actually.” Fenris said and smiled softly.

For the first time after three weeks, Hawke was back at the Hanged Man for a game of Wicked Grace, and this time he brought Fenris with him. Varric, Anders, Isabella, and Merrill all crowded around their usual table. Sebastian never attended their games, strongly opposed to both drinking and gambling. Aveline and Donnic arrived 30 minutes later after having a nice dinner, just the two of them.

When Hawke arrived with Fenris, a roar of cheers and groans erupted from the table; the pot full of bets had been won and lost. Anders frowned and removed some cash from his wallet before slapping it down on the table and pushing it towards Varric and Merrill who beamed as they grinned. Isabella waved around her money.

“Technically I said he would have a date.” She said.

“More accurately you said he wouldn’t come here because of a date.” Varric said. Isabella pouted with a wry look in her eye, giving a wink

“Well, I was half right.” Isabella placed her money on the table and Varric scooped up the rest and placed it in the bin where the other wagers had been placed.

“Drinks are on us tonight.” Varric said looking at Merrill who laughed.

Hawke and Fenris took their seats next to each other at the table. Hawke introduced everyone to Fenris and returned pleasantries in kind. With Isabella he gave a nod and a faint smile that she returned two fold.

“I want to know this story.” Isabella said. Hawke waves his hands.

“Nothing like that.” Hawke said. Isabella’s smile grew wider.

“It was all thanks to your help Isabella. We met at work.” Fenris said.

“That’s me, I’m a helper.” Then she shuffled the deck and started handing out cards to everyone, “Varric, get those drinks, let’s get started.”

The night started well enough. Fenris, despite saying that he was a novice at the game, did fairly well. Anders lost horribly, like always. Wagers were won and lost but everyone was in good spirits and getting along well, even though the drinks were piss-poor like always. The group finished their first game when Aveline and Donnic arrived, Aveline sporting her new cropped hair. Varric was right, it was a jarring change, she had kept the same hairstyle for years, but it looked good on her, especially when she smiled at Donnic, still so happy after all these years. Hawke introduced them again and Isabella shuffled them into a new game. They were only a few rounds in when it started.

Anders had just lost another round and Isabella was sweeping up her gain. Hawke was thinking about whether or not he could afford to lose another round, no doubt Isabella was punishing him for making her lose the pot and he had already lost enough money as it was. He placed down another wager, let her have her fun now. Anders sat out, having lost enough. Aveline and Donnic were carrying on a conversation with Fenris as if they had been friends for ages. Merrill was talking about her latest research project that she was working on that she hoped to have published by the end of the year. The next round began.

“Fenris, where do you come from?” Merrill asked.

Hawke thought nothing of the question, until he looked up from his hand, a poor one, Isabela was definitely cheating the deck, and saw Isabela drop her smile. Nothing ruined her mood when she was on a winning streak.

“From up north.” Fenris said, an edge biting into his voice but nothing outright hostile. That should have ended the conversation.

“Your accent sounds like Tevinter.” Anders said. Isabella bit her lip, no longer gloating about whatever she had in her hand.

“Yes. A long time ago.” Fenris’s voice growing tense.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Tevinter. It’s no longer as grand as it used to be, but there’s some type of allure with its history.” Anders said.

Fenris slams his fist onto the table, no longer caring about the game or cards in his hands which bend under the pressure of his clenched hand. The rest of the table falls quiet.

“You admire a country of tyrants supporting themselves on the back of slaves.”

Merrill nearly choked on her ale, for once not because of the taste. For several moments Anders, and the rest of the table, was silently dumbfounded.

“I didn’t mean-“

“It’s just the reality of the thing makes the illusion lesser.”

Isabella leaned back in her chair, ready to allow what was to happen to happen. Under the growing tension, Merrill sank into her chair while the rest of the table remained silent.

“All I said was-oh never mind.”

The table was quiet, the game forgotten. Hawke had a shitty hand, but placed it down anyways. A sharp whistle came from Isabella as she put down her hand, absolutely destroying Hawke’s wager.

“That was not smart.” Hawke was already reaching into his wallet before Isabella finished speaking.

“Are you all quitting already?” Hawke said as he threw a twenty on the table, Aveline and Donnic followed his example, then Varric and Merrill until the table, even Anders, were back in the game.

The night ended in good spirits, but the mood never returned to what it was before. By the last round, Hawke couldn’t afford his own drink, it was well enough since he had to drive home and hadn’t had another drink since the first one. Sometime after midnight, Hawke put down his last hand. The games usually went on much longer, more often than not Corff shouted for last call before they finished their game, but Hawke was tired and he didn’t want to be one of the last few stragglers this night. Aveline and Donnic had left some time ago. Anders gave up on the game a few rounds after the argument having lost too many rounds. Working at the clinic hardly gave him any money as it was. Hawke knew Varric and Isabella would stay until dawn if they could, and he could see Merrill’s eyes drooping as she yawned. Isabella would walk her home which would end the game. Fenris, well, he didn’t know what Fenris would do.

Just after Hawke folded his hand, Fenris did the same. They excused themselves and walked out of the tavern. Then they were outside and Hawke didn’t know what would happen. Fenris didn’t have a car, Hawke had driven the both of them to the Hanged Man. He could drive Fenris home, but would he be uncomfortable with that?

“I apologize.” Fenris said, “I should not have had an outburst like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They stood next to each other under the faint door light at the tavern’s entrance. Even in the dark, the large upside down hanging man that was the tavern’s logo looked unsettling.

“I have…issues with my birth country. It was difficult living there.”

Hawke nods just listening, he only knew Fenris for a day, but it is enough time to know this is an unusually candid of him, squandering the moment would be a shameful waste. The bitter and hurt voice from the story comes to mind, “I would have given you the world.”

“Why were you at the studio today if you didn’t have an audition?” Hawke asked after some time.

“I did have an audition before you arrived. Anso just told me to wait a bit and listen in on the next person, though I did not know it would be you.”

“I hope it was a pleasant surprise.”

Hawke hears Fenris laugh quietly, looking away.

“It was.”

Hawke wants to ask if they could do this again sometime. He doesn’t have a phone number or even an email to contact him again, and for all Hawke knows today was just a fluke and he may not see him again. Unlikely actually, since they work in the same industry, but Fenris doesn’t work at the same studio or else they would have met. If they do meet again through the same circles, it could be months, and for some reason he can’t name, the thought pains him.

“He also wanted me to get used to the studio, since I’ll be working there a while.” Fenris said. The worry abates and Hawke thinks he may look forward to Monday. Before Hawke can say anything, Fenris starts walking in the dark.

“I can give you a ride home, it’s late.” Hawke says.

Fenris waves him off.

“I live close by. I’ll be fine.” And in a few steps Fenris is gone in the darkness.

Hawke goes to sleep not knowing how tomorrow will be, and for once, in the morning he feels well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a lot longer than I intended. I intended for this to be a oneshot so it is unlikely that I will continue, but who knows. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Leandra watered the flowers Bethany gave her for her birthday. They were the same arrangement that her husband used to send her every year before he fell ill and died, but in the bouquet that her daughter sent the flowers were always tied with a blue ribbon and a card that read “Happy Birthday” or “Mother’s Day” instead of “Happy Anniversary.” The practice made her glad because a small echo of him lingered in the gesture, but she never shared these thoughts with her eldest.

“Bethany sent you flowers again?” Hawke said, glancing at them as his mother placed the watering can next to the vase on the windowsill.

Under her care, the flowers were as new as the day they were delivered. The flowers were a reflection of her, vibrant and young, even after her hair had greyed and the hardships she endured to keep her family afloat in a new city etched wrinkles into her face far sooner than they should have. Instead of wilting in those early Kirkwall years, she grew vibrant and resolute, and now that her children were older, they vowed to keep her that way.

“I’m sure Bethany just asks for the arrangement from the same flower shop,” Leandra said, “she has been rather busy as of late, but at least she finds the time to stop by.” She stressed the last part, giving it too much emphasis.

“I swear she never used to send these before.” He said and pondered all the flower shops he knew in town while ignoring her tone.

“Well, it’s a nice habit that I’m glad at least one of my children has taken up.” She said as she walked away from the flowers and took a seat at the living room table where Hawke sat. On the table she picked up a simple mug with a garish large pink bow reading “#1 Mom!”

“I’m not sure Carver would be any good with flowers.” Hawke said, making a point to ignore the small scowl she gave him when he said it. “I don’t think the Wardens could arrange anything other than military fatigues”

She set the mug on the table, thinking that without the garish bow it would make a nice gift for the neighbor who always spilled his morning coffee on the way out his front door every morning. The mug had a lid.

“It’s nice to get something, but a visit is even better.” Even a week late, Hawke could hear her chime without her even having to say the word. At least Carver would get the worst of it whenever he came back from duty; he hadn’t even bothered to send a card.

“Carver sent me a letter and a card. He says he might have to stay in Seheron longer than he expected.”

Even Carver had beaten him this time and he was half a world away, though this was the first time he heard about his deployment lasting longer.

“Mother,” he said, “How are you doing?” The levity had left his voice.

“Just fine.” she said, too practiced, telling Hawke that he didn’t visit enough, call her enough, or remember her enough. He had meant to visit on her birthday, but his friends had made plans for the same day. And Fenris had been there, not that she knew anything of him yet.

“You seem more cheerful, lately.” She said. “What are you doing now?”

The question surprised him, and he took too long to answer because he could see her brow starting furrow, meaning she was beginning to wonder what he was hiding. But what could he truly say, that at 30 he was happy he had a new friend? Every time he thought about it he felt like a grade schooler telling his mother the kid who sat next to him in math was now his best friend after sharing paste and talking to him about dinosaurs. It wasn’t helping that he actually was talking to his mother.

“Just getting out more.” He finally said, but the look she gave him meant she wasn’t satisfied. “How are you doing mother? You seem radiant today.” She laughed at the voice he used, sultry and deep like the ones he read for the tawdry romance novels.

“You are terrible.” She laughed. “Oh, I’ve done nothing special. Just trying a few new things here and there, going out more. I visited Gamlen earlier this week.”

She went on about Gamlen. He lived in the same decrepit apartment since before his mother moved their family to Kirkwall. It was in the second worst part of the city (Darktown still held the title of worst, even though Lowtown seemed to be doubling its efforts to close the gap), and even though he had intentionally avoided seeing the place for years, he could still smell the reek of the old place from the year they spent there as teenagers when his mother was trying to get back on her feet. The apartment was only second worst to living in it with Gamlen. His teenage years were spent dealing with many second worst cases.

“He’s been doing better since he finally met Charade. I think she’s the best thing that has happened to him in years, and who knows, maybe she’ll be able to get him back on his feet.”

“Well, being Gamlen’s daughter hasn’t stopped her in anyway, so maybe miracles do happen.”

“Perhaps so.” And she surprised Hawke by laughing with him. More than anyone, his mother defended Gamlen, but that didn’t mean his mother wouldn’t confide in what they all knew was true. It was similar to how he was with Carver, albeit he doubted his mother and uncle had been as cruel with each other, well, as much as Hawke could be with his jokes.

“Are you worried about Carver?” He asked after some time.

“I worry about all of you, but yes, I’m worried if he stays longer.” She sipped from the tea she had served herself. “The news out of Seheron has never been good, and they keep recruiting more soldiers.”

Hawke still remembered when his brother joined the Wardens. Carver had been headstrong, nineteen, and yearning to prove himself for the last five years. His mother had called Hawke, pleading with him to rush home because his brother was packing his belongings. By the time he arrived, Carver had a pack slung over his shoulder and bus ticket to his training camp. Leandra was upset and asked Garrett to somehow make Carver stay. But he couldn’t. Instead they fought.

They said things to each other that still hadn’t resolved; Carver not only blamed him for overshadowing him, an idea Hawke never understood or how it got stuck in his head in the first place, but said that at least one of the Hawke brothers would make something of himself instead of bouncing around from one odd job to the next. It had been true of course, Garret could admit that now, but it didn’t stem his anger then or at present. He knew that Carver enlisted for his ego, not moral cause or higher purpose; he was going because he wanted to outshine his brother in some competition that never existed and worse, Carver would be far away making himself into war fodder while everyone else would had to suffer his choice at home. It was Bethany and Garret who took care of mother all these years, waiting for the news that their brother was dead or damaged for the rest of his life.

If Bethany hadn’t stepped in, the screaming match would have become a fist fight. Carver walked out of the house with a torn sleeve on his only decent button up shirt and he probably showed up to basic training that way, for all Hawke knew. Since, they had only seen each other on the few trips Carver returned home, and usually Hawke made himself scarce if he could, more to give their mother some peace from the arguments that usually broke out between them whenever both brothers were in the same room. Carver had already spent 14 months in Seheron.

Leandra and Hawke talked for some time longer. A quarter to three, Hawke had to say goodbye to his mother; he had to meet the gang at the docks or else he would miss the trip on Isabella’s ship. From his mother’s small Hightown apartment, Hawke still had to drive all the way through Lowtown, leave his car in the nearest parking garage (all the way by the Foundry District since all the others were full) and run the rest of the distance on foot. He was the last to arrive, only fifteen minutes late by a miracle, but everyone was already up on deck. Captaining the ship was Isabella who looked as if she had bounded out of one of her romance novels; she wore an oversized hat she only dawned for seafaring, a white blouse that knew how to flutter dramatically in the wind, black pants, and a thick belt around her waist. Hawke assumed she left the flowing cape at home this time, remembering one particularly drunken office party where she tried to reenact one of her raunchier readings. Not wasting the spectacle of her outfit, Isabella struck a pose mirroring the pulp covers of genre paperbacks, she stood with one foot on a cooler and placed one hand on the same knee as the wind picked up and picturesquely blew back her hair. All she needed was a shipmate draping over her like a woolen shawl and the adventures of “Admiral Isabella” could write and narrate itself. For now, she was busy laughing at Hawke for running himself ragged all over Kirkwall while the other looked on.

Isabella’s ship was overwhelming. The entire group was present, Sebastian finally had a free moment from his work and volunteer services at the Chantry and Aveline brought Donnic with her, rounding out the group to nine passengers, and the ship held them all comfortably. The ship was built to hold 15, and housed two levels, excluding the interior in the ship’s hull. For a simple day, they could comfortably stay on deck and there was always the lower compartment if the sea air was too much for anyone. The story of how Isabella got her boat always changed depending on her mood or the night, but few commonalities indicated that she got it after she divorced her bastard husband, either through the divorce money or directly as part of her settlement. Hawke liked to imagine that she made some daring escapade and stole it right under his nose, cackling as she rose away through the water into the night as her ex-husband cursed her name. With Isabella, he could never tell if the fantasy was true or not. Regardless, she doted on the vessel more than her own home.

They spent the day out on open water not far from the Wounded Coast. Varric was enthralling the group in one of his tales, the ones that painted Bartrand in a cringingly unflattering light. Isabella maintained their course and anchored the boat once they had reached her desired spot, then joined the rest of the group and added her own epitaph’s for Bartrand’s disgruntled demeanor. Fenris joined a conversation with Aveline and Donnic and they got along well. Hawke loved the sounds of the conversation around him, accented voices from so many parts of the world, the turn of phrase they used, or the different ways they punctuated or pronounced their vowels. He particularly enjoyed the Tevinter accent he heard amongst the conversation.

All in all, his friends were having a good time, Hawke thought. Despite the name, the Wounded Coast was peaceful. The drinks were going fast. Hawke had to reach deep into the cooler, below several layers of ice, to find a beer. Nothing too concerning, they had far more drinks on nights at the Hanged Man and Isabella probably had more stashed away somewhere. He had only just opened the bottle when a flash of Ander’s T-shirt sailed across the boat followed by Anders jumping into the water. Merrill’s splash sound a heartbeat after Anders his the water. They were wearing swim suits under their clothes, clearly they had planned to jump in water from the beginning, something Hawke had not and he took a few steps away from the edge.

“I’m not sending out a life boat for you two.” Isabella said.

“Oh don’t be like that, Izzie.” said Anders.

Merrill began swimming further out away from the boat in a perfect backstroke. Hawke never knew she could swim so well.

“The water is so nice Isabella, you all should try it.” She said, her voice as light as it always was. In the next moment, he heard another splash as Isabella, fully clothed, minus the hat she thoughtfully left on deck, jumped into the water.

“What do we do without a Captain?” Varric called over the railing.

“Elect a new one.” Hawke said and pretended to walk towards her hat.

“You touch my fucking hat or ship and I’ll make sure you never see land.” Isabella called from the water.

“I’m planning to keep myself on the closest thing to land there is out here.” Varric said to Hawke as he raised his hands over his head in surrender and walked to where the others were talking.

Then Isabella swam out to Anders and Merrill. Hawke took the empty seat beside Fenris, ignoring the flutter in his stomach. Varric gave him a look, his wry smile setting off alarms, then went back to the conversation. Aveline was telling a story about some of the strangest events she had seen on the night patrol, drunks strolling out of bars not noticing that they were missing pants, the strange abundance of torn trousers in the city, especially Lowtown, and bizarre occult writing in abandoned warehouses while Donnic added details of his own experiences.

“And that’s just on patrol. You don’t want to know what happens when we knock on people’s doors.” Aveline said.

“What is behind closed doors is always worse.” Fenris said.

“Do tell, I could use that in my next book.” Varric said.

“As long as it turns out better than your last one, don’t think I didn’t read your pulp about the guard captain.” If her glare had been directed at anyone else besides Varric, Aveline would have stopped them dead, but instead the writer just shrugged.

“You might be the only one.” Varric said, “They’ve cancelled it after the last one. Sales didn’t pick up, not that it kept Cassandra from pushing for it.”

“The only one.” Hawke sipped from his beer, ignoring the look Varric gave him.

“Is this the cheap romance series?” Fenris asked.

“With that loving endorsement, yes Broody, the very one.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised. It’s quite a departure from your normal work.”

“Yes the “Cheap romance” part does stand out among his body of work.” Hawke said. Fenris smiled and it was suddenly all that Hawke noticed.

“Everyone’s a critic.” Varric said.

“Narrating it did not make it any easier.”

“Can’t be much worse than one of the first assignments Anso gave me. I had the Canticle of Shartan but reimagined as torrid love affair between Shartan, Andraste, and Maferath, and then the author had the audacity to say that it was based on a medieval Orlesian play as its claim to authenticity. It was over ten hours.” Fenris said with disdain. Hawke laughed louder than the rest the group. They swapped stories about recording session, much to the exclusion of the rest of the group, not that Hawke noticed.

“Let’s not talk about work.” Varric said when there was finally a break.

“As long as I don’t have to hear about Swords and Shields anymore.” Aveline said.

Eventually, Merrill, Isabella, and Anders returned to the boat. Isabella handed out the towels she kept on the lower deck, so that the others could dry themselves out, then she and Hawke grabbed the second cooler to pass around more drinks. Wearing her hat over her dripping hair, Isabella took Aveline’s empty seat next to Fenris since she had stood up to take the empty cooler back down to the lower deck. She didn’t care how the swim had affected her clothes, she didn’t even bother to wrap her hair up when she sat down in Aveline’s seat. Hawke’s stomach dropped when he saw Isabella wink at Varric while Fenris was speaking to him. He could only hope that whatever was transpiring between them wouldn’t make his life a complete living hell. But the innuendo laced comments never came, instead she let Fenris finish his discussion with Hawke. It wasn’t until he went to grab another drink from the cooler that he realized she had not only been unusually quiet. His dread grew anew.

“How’s Beth doing?” Isabella asked.

“Handling the little rascals every day, “Hawke said, “and she’s the favorite child at the moment.”

“I told you to get her something nice.”

“I know, but I forgot and only had time to buy a stupid mug on the way over.”

“No wonder Beth’s the favorite.” Isabella brushed her hand through her drying hair.

Anders dug deep into the cooler, to find mostly water keeping the drinks cold. “The ice is low.” He called.

“I know where it is.” Merrill said, and started down the steps to the lower level.

When Hawke went down for the cooler, he had to grab ice to refill the first cooler along with the hot drinks he put in. He went around the room twice before he finally found the ice box, behind a panel that looked like a part of the wall, except for the slim concave handle that opened it. Hawke didn’t remember Merrill grabbing ice beforehand.

“How does she know where it is?” Hawke asked.

“From the last time we went on an outing.” Isabella said.

“For Varric’s latest book?” That trip had been over six months ago.

“No. You weren’t invited to the last one we went on.” She didn’t explain further.

Merrill ran up the stairs, holding a large bag of ice. When she approached the cooler, she nearly slipped on the puddle of water on the deck that had splashed when Anders dumped the melted ice overboard. She kept her balance but dumped some of the ice from the untied opening onto Anders, who still wasn’t wearing a shirt. He yelped and shook off the ice that stuck to his skin. Isabella laughed at the whole affair, even while Anders and Merrill picked up the ice on the floor and dropped it into the cooler. Merrill apologized repeatedly, even while Anders told her she didn’t have to.

Shortly before sunset, Isabella returned the ship back to the Kirkwall docks. With his first step on land, Varric exalted his praises while swearing that he would never leave the ground again, as he did after all of Isabella’s boating trips. Hawke’s car was still parked by the foundry district, and he was dreading the walk over. Part of him thought he should give his mother a call to make up for the morning and make plans to take her somewhere for dinner. Varric said something about a sudden inspiration for his manuscript, his usual code for departing early. The others were slowly drifting back to their homes, many of them living in different parts of Lowtown. He would offer them a ride, except they could all probably walk home in the time it took Hawke to get his car then backtrack to their homes.

Hawke found himself among the last to leave. Anders waved goodbye expecting another early shift at the hospital, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone on the docks.

“I left my car at the foundry district.” Hawke said. He knew Fenris was aware of this, everyone had heard his breathless and sputtered explanation when he first got to the docks, he didn’t know why he said it again now. “I could offer you a ride home.”

“My home is closer than your car.” Hawke remembered the first night at the Hanged Man. Fenris lived someplace near there, he could certainly walk home before Hawke reached his car. “I don’t mind walking with you there then heading back.”

On the walk, thinking of no other way to fill the time and quiet, Hawke recounted the story from the morning about his mother. He knew as he was talking that he was giving too much detail than Fenris asked or was even inclined to be interest in. Hawke talked about how he always checked in with her because she was lonely since the children moved out, that he let his pet mabari stay with her just so that could keep herself busy since she retired from her work as a seamstress, how Carver left, and how Bethany managed to come out sane and balanced, unlike her brothers. He even went into how they arrived in Kirkwall, as teenagers soon after their father died. By the time they arrived at the parking garage, he felt the echo at the cessation of his voice and how little Fenris had spoken the whole way there.

“It must be interesting to have a family.” Fenris said, his voice echoing as they descended the levels of the garage.

“Sorry to bore you.”

“It didn’t mean it in a derogatory sense. I have no family and yours sounds lively.”

“Did you come to Kirkwall alone?”

“Yes.”

Before Hawke could ask more, they arrived at his car. Hawke took a few moments searching for his key, even though he knew they were in his back pocket.

“You really don’t have any family? Not even back home?”

“Tevinter is not my home.” Fenris said too quickly.

“Right. Wasn’t talking about Tevinter, but let’s move on.”

“Please do.”

“How would you like to visit my family?”

 

Hawke went over the conversation in his mind again. At the moment, sitting in his mother’s parlor with Bethany, his mother, and Fenris, his summation was more along; ”Hello, let me ruin a perfectly good day by whining about my family. Oh, even better how about you meet them?” Could it be called social entrapment? Locking someone into an awkward conversation and then offering them an invitation that in polite society was impossible to refuse, no matter how desperately someone wanted too. He had done it to Fenris, and now the poor man was stuck sitting directly across from Hawke’s mother and sister on a Sunday afternoon.

As usual, Hawke’s mouth had landed himself and everyone around him in an unfortunate predicament. In the garage it just seemed like talk and the words had fumbled out before he knew it. It wasn’t as if he was in the habit of introducing his friends to his family. Bethany knew Isabella, only because she hid a love of romance novels and pleaded with her brother to meet the narrator of her favorite books once she found out Hawke was friends with her, a fact still hidden from Leandra. Varric had stumbled upon Hawke and his mother in the Hightown market, or so he said since hardly anything was an accident with Varric. The only person Hawke had intentionally introduced to his whole family was Anders, and it was best not to think about that now.

“You have a lovely home, Ms. Hawke.” Fenris said, drinking the tea she had made that was still warm.

“Thank you, and please, call me Leandra.”

The pause resting at the table lasted far too long. Hawke coughed into his fist just to make sound. The table had already run the course of small talk. “How did you two meet?” “At work.” “I see.” Everyone took turns drinking more scalding hot tea. “You’re new to Kirkwall? I hope you’re having an easier time than I had.” “Mother I think-“ “Kirkwall has been…more hospitable than other places I’ve been.” The tea was now lukewarm.

“What kind of stories do you like to read when you aren’t working?” Bethany said after Leandra set a new pot to boil.

“Anything really. History, fiction, philosophy. Anything I can get my hands on.”

“You’re well-read.”

“Not really. I started reading later in life. I guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

“Story time is my favorite with my students. They only know their letters and a few words on their own so I do all the reading”

“Teacher that cares are a special gift. Not all of us were so lucky.”

“You flatter me.”

“See, mother. Some of my friends are respectable.” Hawke chimed in.

“I never said they weren’t dear, though some of them do make me wonder.” She said.

“She’s talking about Varric.” Hawke said to Fenris.

“He was a gentlemen.” Leandra said.

“Still didn’t stop you from asking my five times after he left “Are you sure it’s a good idea associate with such a character.” Hawke said, miming her voice.

“Don’t think I don’t know about some of your other friends.” Leandra said in a huff. Hawke just laughed in turn.

It was a nice brunch that spilled out into mid-afternoon. Leandra had an appointment to meet someone in town, Bethany gave her a lift there. Hawke and Fenris decided to walk around Hightown since they were there and had already paid the days parking for the garage. They were currently crossing the path from Leandra’s apartment to the market.

“Your mother is charming woman.” Fenris said.

“I hope that wasn’t too awkward for you in the beginning.”

“Like I said, she’s charming.”

The market was abuzz, usually a busy pace on weekdays, even more so on a Sunday afternoon. Artisans, craftsmen, even a few counterfeiters of expensive handbags and coats had set up stalls and were calling to patrons. Perfectly located by one of the main Hightown entrances, the market had heavy foot traffic on any given day. On weekends, it became a hub where all the local artists and crafters sold their wares or the farmers sold their harvest. More than enough times Leandra bought Hawke’s birthday gifts from one of those stalls; a detailed ring he never wore, a pair of sturdy but old fashioned trousers, and so on. Unfortunately, it was another Farmer’s market day when he forgot to buy his mother’s gift and had to run into a local coffee shop.

Perusing the different stalls, they saw fine jewelry, and less so, displayed. Intricate homemade soaps of different scents, colors, and shapes, were the main wares of one stall while another boasted furniture made out of yardsticks. Further back were the antiques, where Hawke could find old Tevinter lockboxes, Antivan leathers, and Nevarran watches. Fenris glanced about the stalls, not taking particular interest in anything.

Hawke found a shelf of old books in one of the back stalls. The books were leather bound, heavily aged, some with missing pages, water damaged, or had loose bindings. He plucked one book off the shelf by chance, the cover was too faded to read the text. It wasn’t until he had flipped through the first few weathered pages that he stumbled upon the title. With the faded print, it took concentration for Hawke to read the first few pages.

“Interesting reading?” Fenris asked.

“I just love reading the,” Hawke flipped back to the cover page “Reflections on Divinity by Revered Mother Juliette.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and glanced at the titles he could read from the spines, all chantry related titles, none particularly enticing. He was about to turn and start looking at another stall when a title at the end of the shelf piqued his interest. he picked it up, browsed for a few moments, then put it back after peaking at the price on the inside cover. Seeing nothing else of interest, he was onto the next stall when Hawke put his own book down and reached for the one Fenris put back. Without a thought Hawke paid for the book without waiting for his change from the sleepy-eyed vendor, then shoved the book into the bag he was offered while catching up to Fenris.

“Did Mother Juliette’s words sway you?”

“I’m thinking of sending it to my brother, considering that he worships his own ego like a god.” The other man laughed and Hawke found himself smiling all the more.

 

They reached the end of the bazaar and with little interest in anything else. They found a stand with cursed relics from the Bone Pit and the underground roads, mostly old rusted tools that weren’t nearly old enough to be what the vendor claimed. Still worth a coins though, just for the novelty of it. Fenris still thought Hawke was a fool for buying such junk and told him as much. When they started back towards Hawke’s car, Hawke had the book and one of the relics while Fenris had bought nothing.

Hawke unlocked the car and they both stepped in, Fenris to the passenger seat and Hawke in the driver’s side. The ride back to Fenris’s apartment in Lowtown was short ride without the weekday traffic and for the most part was uneventful. It was dark when they arrived. Before Fenris stepped out of the car, Hawke reached into the bag and handed Fenris the book.

“This is The Book of Shartan.” Fenris said, looking at the title.

“You seemed interested.” Hawke said.

When Fenris didn’t react, he started reconsidering his decision. Hawke couldn’t read the expression on his face, and the longer he stayed quiet, thinking something over in his head, the more his gut knotted itself.

“Hawke, This isn’t something you do with all your friends, is it?”

“No.” Hawke said before he meant to, but it was out and hung in the air frail and weak.

Fenris tucked the book under his arm.

“I will be sure to keep it safe then.”He hesitated before reaching the handle. “Thank you, Hawke.” Then he stepped out of the car.

Watching Fenris leave into the night again, he felt that same unnamed feeling he had the first time he watched his figure disappear into the darkness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely make my deadline by an hour and the luck of it being a leap year. Frankly, I'm not that happy with how slow this chapter is, but with the Hawke family set up a bit, things should be moving by the next chapter. Fluff isn't exactly my forte, so thanks for bearing with me.
> 
> I'm planning to release a chapter a month, so long as my life doesn't get too hectic and writer's block stays far away. Right now I expect this to be about 10 chapters but the length may vary depending on how it goes.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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